


Obsidian Gothic

by Altariel



Series: Obsidian Gothics [3]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 05:30:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Altariel/pseuds/Altariel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fall of the house of Tain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obsidian Gothic

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【Translation】Obsidian Gothic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011011) by [isaakfvkampfer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isaakfvkampfer/pseuds/isaakfvkampfer)



> For Cardie-ologist, who took this one by the scruff of the neck, and shook it till it worked!

I waited patiently for ten minutes, and impatiently for an extra fifteen. After half an hour I stood up to go, muttering curses under my breath. This was the sight that Jadzia beheld as she entered the Replimat.

'I hope there's no milk in this restaurant, Julian,' she smiled at me. 'You'd sour it at forty paces.' 

I pulled a face. 'Sorry, Jadzia. It's just that I've been waiting for Garak for the past half hour and he hasn't turned up. Now I'm running late and I haven't even eaten...' I stopped as I caught the frown on her face. 'What is it, Jadzia?'

'I'm surprised you haven't heard.' She lowered her voice, took my arm and pulled me to one side. 'We received a transmission from Starfleet Intelligence around 0400 this morning. They'd just had a report in from Cardassia Prime that three days ago there was a purge of more than fifty senior Cardassian officials: dissidents, anti-Dominion military, that sort of thing.'

I nodded. It was only to be expected that after the plans to invade Romulus had been leaked, Dominion security would enter a paranoid phase. 'And?'

'And they've finally wiped out the last remnants of the Obsidian Order.'

I looked at her in amazement. 'Good God, Jadzia - I didn't think there were any remnants left _to_ wipe out.'

'You don't eradicate an organization like that overnight, Julian. After Tain's debacle, it appears they went underground. They were becoming something of a focus for the anti-Dominion faction. And now it seems the Dominion chose to face the problem head on...' She stopped, looked at me. 'Whatever happened, I think that probably explains why you haven't seen Garak today.'

I nodded somewhat distractedly. 'Thanks, Jadzia. At least I know what's going on now.' I checked the time.

'The shop hasn't been open either,' she murmured. 'I should imagine he's still in his quarters.'

So early afternoon found me handing over the infirmary to the tender care of my talented team, and heading off to the habitat ring. I tapped the chime and his door opened.

'Come in, doctor.' I had long since become accustomed to Garak's knowing whoever was at his door, although I don't believe Odo ever had. I stepped inside.

Garak was stretched out on the couch, his right hand across his eyes. He pulled it away and turned his head to look at me. A nearly-empty bottle of kanar stood on the floor, and I eyed it balefully.

He caught my glance. 'My apologies for missing lunch, doctor. I am planning to spend the day getting slowly and quite profoundly drunk.' He pulled himself up into a seating position. 'So what tears you away from the infirmary this afternoon, doctor?' He wasn't looking at me any longer, and his attention seemed to be focused on something next to him on the couch. 

'Jadzia told me the news from Cardassia. I started to worry,' I said simply.

He laughed, a slightly brittle sound. 'There really isn't any need, doctor.'

That clearly wasn't true. I went a little closer. 'You still feel loyal to the Order, don't you? After all these years, even after they threw you out...'

'Is that so difficult to understand?'

'I just don't think the Order deserves such devotion from you,' I replied quietly.

A flicker of something - maybe sorrow? - passed across his face. 'Let me show you something, doctor.' He reached to his side, and picked up something long, thin, and black. I realized with a shock that it was a dagger.

'Where the _hell_ did you get that, Garak?' I leaned in to look at the knife more closely. It really was completely black, although the handle had some fine silver inlay, and the blade glinted as it caught the light.

He smiled at my consternation, then looked down at the knife lovingly. 'Do you really want to know?'

I raised an eyebrow. 'What do you think?'

His lips twitched. 'Well, to understand that, you'll have to put up with some family history. The two are, after all, intimately connected.'

'This becomes more arduous by the second,' I answered drily. I pulled up the  
chair opposite him. Whether what was coming was the truth or lies, I knew it  
would be a good story.

He paused for a moment, whether to decide what he should tell me, or just for dramatic effect, I was really not sure. And then he began.

'From when I was a tiny child, doctor, there were three very simple facts that I knew and understood. Firstly, that Enabran Tain was my father. Secondly, that this fact should never, ever be mentioned. And thirdly, that Tain had the right to end my life whenever he chose. Those are simple rules, doctor. A child doesn't have a problem understanding them, and even less obeying them.

'I had been working for the Order for just over a month, when a message was sent to me from Tain's office. It was an invitation to join him at his home in the country that weekend, and it carried quite precise instructions of how I was to get there: what transport to hire, which route I should take, that time I was expected to arrive. At this point in my life, I had seen Tain only twice since I had reached adulthood, once when he interviewed me before I joined the Order, once when he greeted all the new recruits. It would not be an understatement, then, to say that this invitation nearly scared the life out of me. I had no idea what to expect, or whether indeed this was to be the day when Tain finally decided that I was of no further use to him. 

'As the groundcar pulled into the driveway leading to the house, I realized in a flash that I had been there before. All my memories of that trip to the countryside as a small boy came flooding back to me. The house looked no different: the drive was lined still with twenty huge and looming garameth trees. They had been ancient when I had first gone there, and the thirteen intervening years were nothing in their lifespan. The house itself was as vast as I remembered.

'When we finally reached the front door, I realized in dismay that the fare for the groundcar would take most of my money. I'd be walking back to the city after the weekend, and I'd be on starvation rations for the rest of the month. Tain's travel instructions may have suited his security arrangements, but they certainly didn't suit an impoverished young man only a month into his first job. 

'I paid the driver somewhat bitterly, and then went up to the huge, dark wood front door. _Wood!_ Cardassia Prime is a nearly barren world, doctor. To have had the ability to use a material as scarce as wood for something as frivolous as a front door showed just much wealth the family of Tain had at its disposal. There was an iron door knocker cast in the shape of the head and ravenous mouth of a wild hound; I grasped it firmly and hammered hard.

'A rather ancient man opened the door. I was now getting close to giggling - although it was, I admit, inspired somewhat by hysteria. Everything about the house and the grounds seemed to have become grotesque, as if it were in one of those abominable novels by Rakleth. I expected to find the walls inside running with the blood of the enemies of the House of Tain: a device beloved of that novelist, as you may recall, doctor. 

'Before I could speak, the servant had stepped aside and beckoned me to enter. "You're expected, sir," he said. I stepped over the threshold, and he closed the door behind me. With infinite tact he prised my bag out of my hands. "Please wait here in the hall," he said, and then disappeared through a side door. I looked around the hallway, and it took my breath away. The most striking feature was the dual stairway, again, carved out of dark wood. The two flights of steps led up to a balcony, with a big, leaded window behind. The walls of the hall were panelled, and on each side hung two richly-made, and clearly very old, tapestries. In the alcove formed in the place underneath the stairs hung a painting of a woman, dressed in red. This hallway was more impressive, more beautiful, than anything my memory had preserved, than my imagination had been able to conjure.

'So there I stood, on the black and white tiled floor, my mouth hanging open, gazing round the magnificent hall, when I heard a polite cough. I swung round, and there stood Tain, smiling at me, a little indulgently.

'"Garak!" he said, with a hint of amusement. "I trust my home meets with your approval?"

'I clamped my jaw shut and swallowed. "Oh, indeed," I managed.

'"I'm glad to hear that," he answered. "Why don't you come through to the library and we can have something to drink?" I followed him dutifully.

'The library was split across two-levels. I had always read a great deal, from being a very small child, but I had barely ever seen a real book before. This room was full of them: hundreds - thousands, possibly - of ageing, gettle-hide bound volumes. Tain handed me a glass of kanar and led me across to two big chairs in a bay window. He started to quiz me about how I was finding life in the Order, what assignments I had taken on, what was planned for me. By this time, I had gone well past being intimidated. The practical side of my nature took control, and I answered his questions promptly, professionally, and with a great deal of charm and humour. I could see he was pleased with my  
performance. He kept trying to fill my glass, but I have never been a great drinker, and I managed to stay completely sober. I think that impressed him even more.

'I don't think it's possible to describe how different this house was from everything I was used to. The bedroom I was shown to was bigger than the room I was renting at the time back in the city. The food was finer, the drink of a better quality than anything I had tasted before. At the end of the weekend, I was still dazed from it all, but I felt that I hadn't humiliated or disgraced myself in any way, and for that I was profoundly relieved. Tain shook my hand, and told me to visit the following month. "I've enjoyed your company, Garak," and he seemed to mean it. Then he frowned. "How are you planning to get back to the city?" he said.

'I had intended to avoid this issue, hoping just to head off without comment. I flushed slightly. "I was going to walk..." I began, but he cut me off. "Nonsense! It's nearly twelve miles. I'll get a groundcar ordered for you."

'There was no avoiding it now, so I got straight to the point. "I'm afraid I can't afford to pay for one," I said ruefully.

'Tain looked at me a little strangely. "And you didn't think to ask?" he said.

'I knew that this was all part of the test, all part of his finding out what my limits were, and how much I expected to receive from him. "I wouldn't _ask_ for anything from you, sir," I replied, quietly. "Although I have enjoyed your hospitality this weekend more than I can say."

'He lips twitched at that reply, and it seemed to please him. "Then let me extend my hospitality to your journey home," he said, and he went off to organize transport for me.

'While he was gone, I took the opportunity to take a closer look at the painting under the stairs. My first impression had been that it was a few hundred years old, but that clue had been from the style of the dress the woman wore. Looking more closely, I could see that this was not the case: the paint was quite new, and there were some stylistic aspects in the brush work that gave away the fact that this painting must be less than forty years old. The woman depicted was young and vibrant, her eyes and mouth laughing, her face beautiful. It was a very fine piece of work.

'I jumped as I realized that Tain was standing behind me again. "It's a portrait of my wife," he said quietly, "which I had commissioned for our first wedding anniversary."

'"I didn't know that you were married, sir," I ventured.

'His eyes hooded over. "I'm not," he said. "She died nearly twenty years ago." And then we heard the car pull up on the driveway, and he shook my hand again, handed me my bag, and sent me back on my way to the city and the cheap room and two weeks of eating only every other day until I got paid again.

'After that, the invitations to the country came every month, and Tain would send a car to collect me. One weekend we spent the entire time tasting kanar, and he instructed me how to differentiate between the different vintages, what was good and what was bad. Other weekends we went hunting, and he patiently taught me to ride and corrected my technique - these were the most poignant ones for me, because I could never forget the first time we had done this together.

'In the evenings we would have dinner, then retreat into the library or the study, where we would drink exquisite kanar, and talk about work, or about politics, or about literature, or whatever took Tain's fancy. Can you imagine what it was like? I was an eighteen-year-old boy who had always been on the fringes of Cardassian society and watched the treasures within like a starving man. And then to be offered such access to them...

'But perhaps his most favourite topic was of his family, nearly forty generations of it, whose own history was intimately tied to the history of Cardassia herself, and of the Obsidian Order. I learnt how his ancestors had been key in the establishment of the Order, how they had always been essential to upholding the law and dedicated to maintaining the stability of Cardassian society. He would lecture me at length about the centrality of the family to the Cardassian way of life, and I never worked out if these talks were meant to be comforting or accusatory.

'Then he told me about the building of the house, and he described, with grim relish, some of the more bloodthirsty episodes in the family's history. At least two ancestors had ended their days bricked up in tiny rooms, screaming as they scratched at the walls, driven insane by thirst. There had been eighteen murders, nine suicides, and about one hundred and forty infanticides of illegitimate children. "Rather a tradition in the family," he added, off-handedly. Twice the south wing of the house had been burnt down as one member of the family murdered another. What with poisonings, stabbings, incest, treachery and frequent bouts of insanity, it made for a fabulous narrative - but it really was a miracle that the house of Tain had survived so long. It was only its near-obsessive love for Cardassia and its insatiable desire to remain in power that had kept the family from self-destruction centuries ago.

'These sessions would stretch well into the night, and it would often be the early hours of the morning before we would stumble off in exhaustion back to our respective bedrooms. Nonetheless, I would often wake up in the middle of the night, the old house creaking around me, and I would be conscious of its history weighing down on me, even fancying I could hear voices trying to whisper their stories to me...

'I got the impression that he was using the house more than he had done in a long time. More and more servants appeared about the place, and he would occasionally show me new rooms that he had re-opened. One weekend I went up there and the door was opened by Mila. That was a great shock. I hadn't seen her since I was a little child, before I was sent off to school, when I was living below stairs at Tain's house in the city, passed off as the son of one of his servants. I just didn't know what to do. She laughed wryly at my discomfort, took my bag from me, and ushered me into the library where Tain was waiting.

'It was around this time also that I became convinced that there was someone else living there - not a servant - in, I thought, the west wing. I would sometimes see staff rushing that way with trays, hear Tain holding muted conversations, catch the sound of a door being slammed.

'One evening, Tain had been quizzing me about my latest assignment. I had just carried out my first solo assassination, and it had been something of a triumph. Everyone in the Order had been whispering about a very junior agent who had a great deal of promise. As I finished telling him about what I had done, I saw a gleam of excitement in his eyes.

'Suddenly, he leaned forward, looked at me intently. "Did I ever tell you how the Obsidian Order got its name?" He was off onto his chief enthusiasm again. I smiled, and shook my head.

'"Come with me," he said. We left the library and headed off down the corridor into the east wing. I had been this way before; it was where Tain stored some of the more grisly family mementoes. At the far end of the corridor Tain stopped, and pulled out a key to a little door. We went in, and a surprisingly large room opened out in front of me. I had managed to gain only a very rudimentary knowledge of the geometry of Tain's sprawling home.

'The room was full of display cases, filled to bursting point with curios and fragments. Tain started rummaging in one the cases, and suddenly pulled out a knife. I jerked backwards, thinking, " _I don't believe it - he's finally going to do it..._ "

'Tain laughed, and twisted the blade round in the light. It was black. "I've told you before that the Order started out as the personal security force of one my more ambitious ancestors. When he moved the family from the plains to be closer to what was to become the capital, his bodyguards were armed with knives like this. They made them from a substance formed in the volcanic eruptions which made their original homelands so unpleasant. It's a type of glass, I understand, but it doesn't shatter and it's very strong. This one's a fairly late example, more for ceremonial than practical use, and it's beautifully made. Take a look." And he casually threw it up in the air. I caught it by the handle quite easily - I was a professional assassin too, after all; and inspected it closely.

'"Tain," I said, "It's _magnificent_." And it was: black, flawlessly-crafted, with silverwork inlaid on the handle. The light gleaming off the obsidian blade suggested depths of history and tradition which sang to my romantic streak. And despite its age, it had not tarnished, and a brief test against my thumb proved that the blade was still sharp.

'"Take it," he said. "It's yours."

'I looked up at him in amazement. "I can't take this!" I exclaimed. "It's a work of art, an antique..."

'"Nonsense," he cut through. "If a man can't give a gift to his most promising student, what's the world coming to?"

' _His most promising student..._ That didn't escape me. Even here, initiating me into the family's oldest and proudest traditions, I was not to be his son. But the knife was beautiful, and I wanted more than anything in the world to own it, I longed to become a part of its history. I glanced back at Tain, who smiled and nodded.

'"Thank you," I said. "I would love to have it."

'"Good!" he smiled.

'Then we both turned, at the sound of footsteps at the door. I found myself looking straight into the face of a young man, who was leaning against the doorframe, a sullen look on his face.

'I knew instantly who he was, what he was to Tain. They were very physically alike. Myself, I never resembled Tain. That, like so much else, was not part of my patrimony. Yet this young man... He was maybe seven or eight years older than I was, and it was like looking at Tain himself thirty years earlier. But there were subtle differences. This young man was taller, more graceful. Tain was always stocky and solid. I realized in a flash that this man had the bearing of the woman in the painting. Tain's wife; Tain's son.

'He looked back at me, almost imperiously, but there was a glaze over his eyes that made them seem almost unfocused. "Father? Who is this?" He had the expensive accent and bearing of a man whose education had cost a lot of money; it was the accent that I had worked painstakingly to produce for myself.

'Tain spoke softly, patiently, almost as if to a child. "This is a new colleague of mine, Amabran. His name is Elim Garak."

'What does the bastard son say on being introduced to the legitimate heir? At any rate, it became a moot point. He looked at Tain witheringly, his eyes suddenly sharpened. "Don't treat me like an imbecile, father. I know exactly who this is." And then he turned and walked out into the corridor. I expected Tain to be furious, but he was strangely still. I started to retreat from the room, muttering something about it being a long day, but Tain suddenly smiled, touched my arm, and insisted I join him for a nightcap. As with so many other nights, it was not until dawn was starting to break that I finally got to bed.

'And so my visits to the country continued. After a year or so, Tain took to inviting guests for the weekend; clearly I had come through my apprenticeship and was considered suitable to be released into polite society. A lot of Order business was done at these dinners - elusive talk over five course meals; strategy over glasses of Roktar kanar afterwards. At first, I just listened to what these people had to say; I wanted the measure of them before I committed myself, and I knew that I had plenty to learn from them.

'The other reason I didn't speak much was that, frankly, these people thought I was scum: even if they had guessed my parentage, they still considered me a common street-boy who had insinuated himself into Tain's household, and who should get back to the gutter where he belonged. Sometimes the insults would be so naked, so poisonous, that I would end up physically sick with self-loathing.  
These were the times when it would take all my willpower not to retreat back into the kitchen with Mila and the other servants, to hide myself away back where I'd come from.

'It was on one such occasion that I joined the party in the library a little late for drinks before dinner: I had been shaking with panic upstairs and hadn't wanted to come down until I attained some degree of self-control. All of Tain's closest advisors were there. One of them sniggered as I came in, but Tain smiled. "Garak!" he said. "We were just discussing a small problem that we had with Legate Rantok. Perhaps you can help."

I was conscious of the mocking eyes of the assembled group, and I knew what they were thinking: _"How can this piece of filth succeed where the finest minds in the Obsidian Order have failed?"_ And then my blood started to boil: I knew I was sharper and brighter than just about everyone else in that room, with the possible exception of Tain himself. But I stayed cool, and I gazed at the bookcases while Tain spoke.

'"We have reason to believe the Legate has developed links with the dissident movement, and we want him removed. Unfortunately, he's one of Cardassia's most popular war heroes, and he's as clean as a whistle..."

'I cut Tain off here with a snort of laughter, to the others' astonishment, and Tain's amusement. "Rantok isn't clean," I replied, with unfeigned incredulity. "He has a four year old daughter by a prostitute who lives on the north side of the capital."

'There was a stunned silence, then one of the group spoke. "How do you _know_ this, Garak?"

'A smile crept across my lips, and I decided to go for as much shock value as I could manage. "I live in the flat above the brothel where she works. I see Rantok at least once a month." Before the group could turn this revelation into another source of mockery, I added, my voice dripping with scorn, "You gentlemen really shouldn't closet yourselves away from the seedier side of Cardassian life. It makes you blinkered - and ineffective."

'Tain was laughing uproariously. "This proves what I've been saying for years - never pay your junior agents enough money, it makes them too complacent. I should halve your salary, Garak! It would probably make you twice as efficient!" His eyes were shining, and it was quite apparent that he was delighted with me, although whether it was for standing my ground or having the information he needed, I really can't say. Whichever it was, at the end of the month, I found my salary had, in fact, been doubled - and I also received the deeds to the flat I was living in, a gift that typified Tain's sense of humour. Actually, it stayed my base in the capital for almost ten years, long after I could afford somewhere more fashionable, just because it was so useful. It became part of my reputation for unorthodoxy, part of the latitude I was given as the brightest star to appear in the Order's firmament since Tain himself.

'Moreover, from that evening on it was obvious that I was Tain's favourite, someone to be cultivated rather than despised. My continued success at work was gaining me a reputation of brilliance and ruthlessness. People began to treat me with something approaching courtesy and respect. They talked to me over the dinner table, they sought my opinions over drinks. And I became a permanent fixture at Tain's weekends in the country.

'And sometimes, just sometimes, Amabran would be there; handsome, graceful, detached, sitting at the far end of the table in what would have been his mother's place, and gazing down at his father opposite, and at me, at his father's right hand.

'On one of these evenings, we had been seated at the table for about twenty minutes, waiting for Amabran, who had announced earlier in the day that he would be there for dinner. Tain was becoming increasingly angry, the rest of us, as a result, increasingly anxious. Finally, Amabran came in, flushed, still dressed in his hunting gear.

'"Where have you been?" Tain demanded to know.

'"I should have thought that was apparent," Amabran threw his riding crop to the side of the room.

'"Amabran, you are insulting my guests." Tain's voice was dangerously low and he stood up to impose his presence on the room, and on his son.

'" _I_ am insulting them?" Amabran cried back in amazement. "Not I, father! It's _you_ who insults them by having your _bastard_ here." He gestured at me. "You insult them, you insult me - and you insult the memory of my beloved mother." A very cold silence fell. Eleven guests studied their crockery intently. I looked up at the ceiling. Fifteen years earlier, that sort of information would have been something that could be used against Tain. By this point, it was one of those things you didn't know for fear of your life.

'Not for nothing did we fear Tain's rages. He strode to the far end of the room and punched his fist straight into Amabran's face. It was an act of precise and quite chilling brutality. The young man's nose shattered - there was blood everywhere. Through his tears, he hissed at Tain, "That was always your answer, wasn't it? To me and mother." He clutched his hands to his face, and ran out of the room. Tain strode out after him.

'The silence around the dining table continued. I felt a rather bland smile creep across my face, and I reached for my glass of rokassa wine. As I sipped, I caught the glance of the man opposite me, Erak Ghemmeny, Tain's old henchman. He looked at me and breathed out. "Well," he said. "There's no point in going hungry. Why don't you ask them to serve, Garak?"

'I looked back at him coldly, wondering if he actually thought I was so stupid, if I hadn't yet learnt self-restraint, even under intense pressure. Eventually, I replied, "I'm just a guest here, Ghemmeny. You're Tain's oldest friend. Why don't _you_ ask them to serve?" He looked back in amusement, laughed, and said, "You _are_ going to go far." Then he rang the bell for dinner, and I knew I'd finally, and completely, made the transition into the inner circle.

'One weekend shortly after this, I stood waiting for Tain at the foot of the stairs. We were going riding. I took the opportunity to study again the portrait of his wife. She was truly a beautiful woman, her hair thick and luxurious, her eyes bright and bold, she breathed wit and life and energy. I wondered if she would have despised me as much her son did.

'I heard movement at the top of the stairs, and looked up to see Amabran, his hands resting on the banister, looking down at me. He was dressed completely in white; against his grey skin it made him look unreal, like a phantom.

'He curled his lip. "It's odd that you should stand there," he said. It was the first time he had addressed me directly. "I once stood there, as a small boy, seven years old. My mother was standing where I am now. She was weeping, screaming. My father stood behind me; he had just walked in through the front door. He was shouting at her, cursing her. She began to tear at her hair, at her dress, and he ran past me, pushed me aside, heading for the stairs. In that moment, she jumped. I watched her fall down, very slowly it seemed, she was wearing a white dress with embroidery. She looked - _angelic_. She hit the ground next to me, and I saw something red. It was only when I was twelve, and I went on my first hunt, that I realized that it must have been her blood."

'He walked shakily down the stairs, to come and stand directly in front of me. I could smell the alcohol on his breath. The portrait of his mother loomed behind him, two sets of eyes pierced me. "What could have done that?" he whispered. "What could have driven my mother to such distraction that she would do that?" He wasn't expecting an answer, since we both already knew, and eventually he turned away, stumbling towards the west wing of the house.

'Amabran was always there each time I visited after that. Most of the time he was drunk. And he would follow Tain around, sometimes cursing him, sometimes pleading with him. Whatever tactic he tried, Tain did not respond.

'Yet it was impossible for me to feel anything other than deeply and corrosively jealous of Amabran. I bitterly resented his presence at the weekends, his perpetual demands for attention from Tain. _What more could he want?_ I would ask myself. He had had everything which my own life had lacked: wealth, security, status, and the constant presence of our father. I had spent the first few years of my life with Tain's servants and my childhood in boarding schools. I was a black stain on Cardassian society, despised for what I represented, constantly fighting against prejudice and exclusion. Everything I had achieved, I had slaved for, against massive odds. And now, just when I finally earned the chance to steal a few precious - and always unacknowledged - moments with my father, there was a spoilt, drunken brat constantly intruding. My loathing for Amabran was only matched by my pity for myself.

'Then there came a night when I was woken up by screaming, a voice wracked with anguish carrying through the darkness. By now, nothing that could happen in this house surprised me, but I got up to investigate.

'There was a gust of cool air coming through one of the back doors. I ran outside, and saw a bunch of people gathered in the methel-bush garden, looking up at the roof. Mila was there, weeping, wringing her hands; Tain was shouting out at the top of his lungs - he was in a terrible rage. I looked up and there, tottering on the edge of the roof of the west wing, was Amabran. My stomach twisted in fear.

'Suddenly, Tain completely lost control. He turned on Mila and hit her once, twice, three times across the face. "Stop that infernal racket, you stupid bitch!" he yelled. She fell backwards, crashing into one of the trees, tears still rolling down her face, but she fell silent, although her fall must have hurt her a great deal. He moved towards her, and I suspected that he intended to keep on hitting her, but I didn't stay and watch. I couldn't bear to be near either of them any longer, so I did the only other thing I could do. I ran back into the house, up through the west wing and onto the roof. Amabran stood at the edge, rocking back and forth, one hand clutching a bottle. His hair and eyes were wild, his shirt ripped open. He heard my approach and when he saw me, he smashed the bottle against the roof and brandished it at me. 

'"Get away from me!" he shouted, eyes blazing.

'I stopped advancing towards him, and held up my hands to show that I meant him no harm. "I'm not here to hurt you, Amabran," I said.

'He laughed at this. "You have the _audacity_ to say that to me!"

'I looked back at him in complete confusion. " _What_?"

'His rocking became more violent, and he was dangerously close to the edge of the roof. I was terribly afraid that he might slip and fall. '"You've already done more damage than I thought anyone was capable of," he snarled back. "It's _you_ who has brought me to this."

'"What do you mean?" I asked, furrowing my brow, failing to understand.

'"I've seen you with him!" he screamed, enraged by my stupidity, my inability to grasp what he was trying to tell me. "You've come into this house, and he has no time for me anymore. Who am I, after all? I'm only his son, his heir, the child of his _wife_!" He screamed this down at Tain and Mila and the servants below. Then he turned back to me, waving the broken bottle pathetically, whispering, "But you'll kill for him, and spy for him, and do what he says. So he's replaced me with you."

'It had not once crossed my mind that he could envy me as much as I did him; after all, who in their right mind could be jealous of _me_? I had never even thought that perhaps Tain kept him as distant as he kept me, that he could crave Tain's affection as much as I did. I had seen the signs - the drinking, the weeping, the pleading - and I had dismissed it all resentfully. And then I felt a profound sense of shame, and a deep empathy washed over me. This weeping, ruined young man was, after all, my brother. I couldn't answer him.

'"I wish my mother was alive," he told the sky. "And I wish I was dead."

'Tears welled up in my eyes. I stretched out my hand to him. "Please!" I said, my voice catching in my throat. "I want you to live! Amabran, I know we can't be brothers, but can we not be friends?"

'He looked back for a while at me, his lips moving as if rehearsing the case for and against existence. Then he looked down, at the figure standing in the garden below. His face screwed up in agony.

'"It's not what we want," he whispered. "It will never be what _we_ want - you'll understand that eventually. It will always, always be what _he_ wants. But not in this. He can't control this." And then he jumped, and I reached out, but I was much, much too late.

'By the time I got back down to the garden, Tain had gone indoors. Three of his household were lifting the body, which was covered in a sheet. Mila was still crying, and clutched at me, but I shook her off, quite brutally as I recall, and went inside. _This family..._ was all I could think. _It destroys itself..._ And it was finally true: the tenth suicide in the house of Tain signalled its fall. Enabran Tain had ensured his sons' love and obedience at the cost of the family he prized more than anything else. He had divided us, he had made us both so jealous of each other, so insecure about his affections that the only option left open to one son was physical annihilation; the only option left to the other, moral annihilation.

'I packed and went back to the capital early the following morning, without seeing Tain. Indeed, it was more than a month before I saw him again. He had the funeral to arrange - which I did not attend - and then he had the house closed up, moving permanently into the city.

'The next time I saw him we didn't discuss Amabran - his son, my brother - nor did we ever again. For a little while afterwards, however, his behaviour towards me vacillated between indulgent and hyper-critical. Then he became the same Tain he had always been, the brilliant strategist, the inspired tactician, the most powerful man in the Cardassian Union. And I continued to flourish under his tutelage and his protection until I was his chief lieutenant, his confidante, and his friend.

'But he never forgot Amabran's betrayal - that's how he saw it, doctor; a betrayal. He became, if it were possible, even more distrustful than he had ever been - he kept his friends close and his enemies dead. And when it emerged that his younger son, his only living family, was not as completely his creature as he had believed, he reacted again as a man betrayed, a man who had always expected that one day his second son would prove as much of a disappointment as the first.'

Garak stopped speaking, and looked down at the knife. He took it by the handle, and flipped it up into the air. It span on its way down, and he caught it easily and expertly in his left hand.

'The family of Tain and the Obsidian Order were one and the same thing, doctor; and now I am all that's left of both. For forty generations we moulded the Empire. And now we are extinct.'

He held out the knife to me and I took it. Looking at it closely, I could see tiny fractures running through the glassy blade, the tell-tale sign that it was structurally and fatally flawed.

'We Cardassians put our faith in our institutions,' he continued softly, 'in the integrity of the family, and the might of the state. But today, for the first time, I no longer believe they have the strength to survive this war.' His hand went up again to cover his face. 'I'm not a religious man, doctor, but if there _are_ gods out there, I pray they're looking after Cardassia. Because there's nothing else left to save her.'

A knife is just a knife, not in itself a culture or a tradition. Still, as the afternoon lengthened into evening, and evening into night, we sat and we drank, slowly and steadily, until the lines between the vanished past and the regretful present were as blurred as we could make them.

***

_Written February 2000_


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